Letters from Me to You
by mischief-managed-22
Summary: Pam and Jim send letters back and forth, beginning while Pam is in New York and continuing through the present. Light fluff.
1. From Jim

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. I just think they're adorable.

A/N: The first line of this letter is from a Kimya Dawson song called "My Rollercoaster". Just wanted to give credit where credit is due. Enjoy!

Dear Pam,

You were on my mind at least nine-tenths of yesterday. Probably more, but that seems dorky to admit. Every few seconds I catch myself looking at Ryan in reception with this big smile on my face because I have something to tell you. I find myself wanting to tell you everything, from the absurd look on Dwight's face today when he started realizing that his desk was getting further and further away from mine throughout the day, to what I had for lunch. I walked in on Michael today with his iPod ear buds up his nose and his mouth wide open, insisting that if he turned up the music loud enough, it would come out his mouth. Get this…it worked. And the fact that I stuck around long enough to find this out tells you exactly how much I need you back in the office.

I hope that New York is still everything you've been dreaming of. I know how big this is for you, Pam, and it makes me so happy that you're finally doing it. Just think, you're going to be a graphic designer! Will you make me a T-shirt? Maybe something to do with Battlestar Galactica, just to mess with Dwight a little more. Did I tell you what I did the other day? I filled every one of his desk drawers with cotton and covered his entire desk in it…and then spent the whole day convincing him it was freeze-dried snow.

Okay, that probably would have been funnier if you had been here. I miss you, Pam. I miss you when I have to eat lunch with Kelly or Michael, and their conversation isn't NEAR as scintillating as you are. I miss my partner in crime, I miss sharing secret looks across the room, and I miss escaping to the roof and just being with you.

But most of all, I miss you when I have to go to sleep alone, without your warm, beautiful self to wrap around. I miss your soft lips and your perfect hair. I miss how you look in the morning, just a little fuzzy and perfectly adorable before you have your contacts in. I love waking up to you every morning, Beesly. I can't wait for you to be back.

Maybe this isn't the most productive way to spend my time at work, typing you a letter instead of…well, doing my job. But hey, I've actually been pretty productive with no one to talk to, so I deserve a little time off. And Michael sleeps in his office for half the day anyway, so I think I'm in the clear.

Ugh, sorry. I find myself rambling about the office and then I realize that you're actually in New York, full of exciting people and places, and you probably don't want to hear every boring detail of my dreary workday. You know what I did last night, Pam? I had a Harry Potter marathon. I watched every Harry Potter movie we own. I thought of you when I saw the Room of Requirement because I know you love that. Don't you wish we had one of those in the office? Except that might be a little too tempting. An invisible room that only we could get into, where no one could find us and we could spend all day together doing whatever we chose?

Ah, I can't start thinking about that at work. Geez, Beesly, I can't even concentrate when you're NOT in the office. What am I going to do when you come home?

I love you. Call me anytime. Call me all the time. Don't go to any Laundromats by yourself.

Love,

Jim


	2. From Pam

Dear Jim,

Want to hear a secret? When I opened my mailbox and saw a letter from you I got butterflies in my stomach, but I pretended to be calm until I made it back to my dorm, where I promptly screamed and threw myself on my bed. I probably looked like a thirteen-year-old girl, but I didn't care.

I miss you so much! I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm really glad I came here, and I love most of my classes…I'm even making friends! And you're right, New York is something I've always dreamed about and I should be totally happy to be here. But every morning I wake up in my tiny bed, all alone in my tiny room…and I just miss your warmth, and your cute tousled hair, and the way you sometimes drag a shoelace across my face and yell "Spider!" to wake me up in the morning. Okay, maybe not that so much.

But really, Jim. Remember that one night when you stayed here and we both slept on my flimsy mattress? It almost makes me wish our bed were that small because I could feel your whole body against mine, hear your sleepy groans when I woke you up the next morning, and feel your breath on my cheek all night. I stole the T-shirt you slept in that night because it smells so good. And no, I haven't washed it in any strange Laundromats, per your instructions.

We're more than halfway there, Halpert. Wahoo! Only one more week and the weigh-in should be over at Scranton, too. Have you lost the sixty-five pounds yet? Michael will be so disappointed if you don't. Oh, speaking of Michael…yesterday in my Art and Computers class, my professor was talking about designing some new logo, and he goes, "I already told it not to come up like that!" It took a lot of willpower to keep my mouth shut. I ended up having to whisper to the guy next to me, "That's what she said!" which he didn't find nearly as amusing as you would have.

I loved your care package, by the way. Three new pairs of socks, some candy, caffeine, a hand-made glittery card, and some stickers were exactly what I needed. I wore the fuzzy blue socks yesterday around the halls, and I got several compliments. I told everyone you gave me them. They think you have good taste in socks. Oh, and I've been playing your mix CD in my car for a while now. Is the second song from Hunter's CD? The one you stole from Jan and Michael? I couldn't stop laughing as I listened to it.

Oh, also…shoot, this is sort of a secret, but I'm going to tell you anyway as long as you promise to act surprised. Promise? Okay. So for your birthday, I decided to get you a Harry Potter calendar because I thought it would be funny, especially considering your recent Harry Potter marathon. It came in the mail yesterday, and I realized that the week starts on Monday instead of Sunday because it's from Britain! I was astounded. And a little confused…

I love hearing about all the recent escapades from the office. I think you should set up a little video camera trained right at Dwight so I can see his responses to your pranks all the time. Except that I think Dwight would find it and keep it as evidence of some kind of plot.

Some of the other girls in my dorm are trying to get me to form an Ultimate Frisbee team with them, did I tell you that? I told them I'm allergic to physical activity. I think they believed me. So if you come up anytime soon, don't tell anyone about how fast we ran the Fun Run, because my cover will be blown.

I love you.

Love,

Pam


	3. PostIts

A/N: I know this is much shorter than the other ones, but I couldn't help it. Let me know how you feel about shorter letters versus longer, and I promise something longer will be up by tomorrow. Thanks!

Dear Jim,

There are only black jellybeans left in my candy dispenser and it is your fault because you ate all the other ones. I mean, really Jim.

Love,

Pam

Dear Pam,

It is not my fault that no one likes the black jellybeans. They are gross.

Love,

Jim

Dear Jim,

How do you think the poor jellybeans feel about that? You're hurting their feelings!

Love,

Pam

Dear Pam,

You don't eat them either! *Sigh* Okay. I'll eat them. But only because I love you so much.

Love,

Jim

Dear Jim,

Ha, I knew you couldn't resist me. Wait, what are you doing?

Love,

Pam

Dear Pam,

I may or may not have put all twelve jellybeans in the bottom of Dwight's coffee cup.

Love,

Jim

Dear Jim,

I love you.

Love,

Pam

Dear Pam,

I love you, too.

Love,

Jim


	4. Unsent Letters

A/N: I went a little bit of a different route with this chapter…one letter from each of them that they wrote but never sent. Don't worry; it's still fluffy within the angst. Take comfort in the fact that they get married and have a baby together eventually. And the next chapter will be about that.

Unsent Letters

Dear Pam,

I don't really like jellybeans that much. That is the first confession of many that has been on the tip of my tongue a thousand times. Among others: I don't have to die of boredom as often as I do. I love the way your eyes sparkle when I lean my elbows on my desk. Every time you put on chapstick at your desk, I want to close the distance between us and kiss you, fusing our lips together and pressing my whole body to yours. Actually, that doesn't just apply to chapstick. It's all the time, Beesly. You're killing me.

Every time you smile at me with that infectious enthusiasm, it makes me wonder if maybe you feel the same way I do. Every time Roy walks through the office doors, I want to…well, I don't want a physical confrontation with him; simply because I know it would upset you. I want to ask him why he thinks it is okay to treat you the way he does. I want to ask him if he knows your favorite yogurt flavor, hair clip, magazine, restaurant, childhood memory—because honestly, Pam, I don' think he knows any of those things.

I know all of them. Here's proof: mixed berry, the shiny brown one you got last week with the blue flower on it (and it is your favorite because it won't fall out all day), "People" magazine (even though you tell anyone who asks that it's "Atlantic Monthly"), the little Italian place down the street from your apartment that has the BEST BREAD EVER (your words), and finally, the time your parents took you to the outdoor art exhibition in New York.

It hurts, Pam. That's another thing that I've never told anyone, apart from Michael (huge mistake. Don't tell Michael anything ever). I love talking to you, playing pranks with you, catching your eye across the room and making you smile…but the second that Roy walks into the room, my stomach drops. You shouldn't be with him. He's callous, controlling, and crass. I haven't told you this because more than anything, I want you to be happy. But I don't think he makes you happy, Pam. Maybe he did a long time ago, but that's not the same thing.

I make you happy. I can see it in your face. I see your happy glow come back after I talk to you, and I just wish you would notice it. I just wish I had the guts to tell you. I've thought about wishing that my heart would stop pounding when I see you, that my eyes wouldn't crinkle up in a huge smile, that I could make myself stop glancing up at reception every few seconds to see your face. But if I'm being honest, I don't want that. I just want you.

So no, I don't really like jellybeans that much. I like _you _that much. (Confession #18).

Love,

Jim

Dear Jim,

I feel sorry for you. Not for you right at this moment—I don't feel sorry for the Jim that's shooting another cute grin at Karen across the room as I feel just a little more nauseous. I feel sorry for the Jim of two years ago, who had to watch me smile at Roy while you were only feet away. If you felt anywhere close to the way I'm feeling right now, then I am so sorry. This is terrible.

If I didn't know that Karen was wonderful, then I would want to strangle her. But that's the problem—it's not as if she's mean, controlling, or inattentive. She seems perfect. I don't have a legitimate reason to hate her, except that I'm so in love with you. It's pathetic and it's not fair and I need to get over it. You two seem so happy together. It's none of my business. If I were a selfless, perfect person, then I would wish you both all the happiness in the world.

But that's the other problem—I am selfish and petulant and childish, and I want my Jim back. I want the Jim who came up to my desk fifty times a day to say something funny. I want the Jim who created the office Olympics, which will live on in history forever. I want the Jim who directed his quirky expressions at _me_ instead of Karen. Now I just have to stare at your broad shoulders and the back of your head, remembering how my fingers slid into the curls at the nape of your neck almost a year ago.

Want to hear something else stupid? I think Karen and I would be really good friends if it weren't for all this. I really like her. I'm trying so hard to be okay with this. I need to accept that I lost my numerous opportunities. I shouldn't have my head hitting my keyboard every day as I swallow the lump in my throat and blink away my tears. I have played so many games of Solitaire, trying to avoid everyone in the office. I even started playing Minesweeper, although I'm not nearly as good at it as you are.

I just want to tell you all my stories. I want to tell you about Dwight and Angela, the most shocking office couple in the history of Dunder-Mifflin. I want to tell you that Kevin, in fact, cannot tell the difference between raisins and M and Ms, although I think that might be because he eats so many at a time. Kelly has come to my desk so many times with different candy-scented perfumes that I'm starting to think she steals them. And Michael has had me call four different podiatrists to ask about the wart on the bottom of his foot.

I'm miserable, Jim. I want our friendship back.

Pam


	5. Bad DayPart 1

Dear Jim,

Today is not a good day. I woke up late, so my hair is lopsided and I'm wearing that purple shirt I hate. My shoes feel too small and I'm still breathing hard from running to class. Alex brought me coffee (with a sprinkle of cinnamon, even) but I haven't taken a sip because I'm upset and unsettled and grumpy.

Normally, I am happy and confident and glad that I decided to do this. Most of the time, I'm excited to be here. Bur right now, all I want to do is sink into your arms, collapse against the familiar, comforting planes of your chest, and cry. I miss you so much, Jim. I know Alex thinks I should stay here and I know that you don't want to ever hold me back from doing what I want. But honestly, more than I want any stupid class in New York, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.

Even as I'm sitting here in class, with my lopsided hair and my rumpled purple shirt, I'm thinking about how much better I would feel if you were here. Your long arm would snake around my shoulders and hug me tightly to your side. You would press your lips to my hair, and I would close my eyes and breathe deeply, relaxing one muscle at a time. Your low voice would whisper in my ear (I would feel your chest rumble with the words) and you would tell me you thought the professor looked like Kevin. You would tell me to slip off my tight shoes because I always feel better when I do that. You would tell me to take a deep breath. And you would probably have chocolate.

I'm trying, Jim. My shoes are off, I'm taking deep breaths, but I can't stop the tears from welling up and the lump in my throat from growing. It's just not a good day. I miss you.

Love,

Pam


	6. Bad Day Response

A/N: Jim's response to Pam's distressed e-mail. We're assuming it is an e-mail, because otherwise this instantaneous response would be impossible. And that would defeat the cuteness of this.

Dear Pam,

I'm on my way.

Love,

Jim

P.S. I have comfy shoes, a shirt you like (so we can throw away the purple one), a large amount of chocolate in my pocket, and my long arms to wrap around you. I know you're still sitting in class right now, so I'll keep you entertained.

I left Dwight frantically counting the number of Post-Its on his sticky pad because I accused him of stealing company property in the form of Post-It notes. He's currently proving to me that he has never used a Post-It without accounting for it.

Michael has started to wear crazy socks because he feels it "increases his creative energy" and "makes him feel like he has a special secret". Of course, telling us all about it kind of defeats the purpose of a secret. The irony was lost on him.

Have you ever noticed Meredith licking the hand sanitizer? I saw it this morning. It was...deeply disturbing. Kelly is singing Taylor Swift so loud that we could hear it clearly from the annex. Something tells me she and Ryan are going through a rough patch. I think Toby misses you, by the way. He's oddly interested in your New York escapades, and keeps asking me if we're still together. It's a little creepy.

Have I told you about your temporary replacement? She is utterly uninterested in any pranks, no matter how hilarious they would be. I'm disappointed in her. Isn't that something they teach you before you're allowed to be a receptionist? Also, she doesn't put out candy. Kevin hates her, I think.

I hope that's enough office news to keep you satiated. If you get bored, try to think about tonight. I have a surprise for you. Here's a hint: it involves dinner and a much better end to this day than the beginning. Also, I'm spending the night. That is, if you can spare the blankets—last time you stole them all. The sheet-stealing contest is on, Beesly.

I love you, Pam. I think you look beautiful no matter what you're wearing. When I see you, I give you permission to cry into my shirt for as long as you need to. I'm an expert at fixing bad days.

P.P.S. The one thing I didn't bring was an extra pillow. So you'll have to share.

P.P.P.S. Oh, and I confess…I stole one Post-It from the pad that Dwight is obsessively counting. I figured it would keep him busy for a while.

P.P.P.P.S. Hey, Pam? I love you. Hang in there. I'll see you in less than two hours.


	7. Back from New York

A/N: Pam has just come home from art school. Sorry this took so long. It hasn't been my best week.

Dear Jim,

I'm so glad to be home. I will admit—I missed you. When I figured out that I had failed my computer class, I was so upset. I felt like a failure at everything—not just the class, but also a failure at living here, and an even bigger failure at being your fiancée. All I could think about was how terrible I was at life, and how I would be a receptionist for the rest of my life because apparently I can't do anything else.

Then, of course, I thought about you. You would never have let me think like that, not even for a second. You would tell me that I'm an excellent artist (even though I'm really not, Jim. You should see some of my classmates' work. I'm pathetic) and that you love every painting and sketch that I've made. You wouldn't let Dwight tell me that the shadows are wrong on my watercolors, you would just remind me of the time I won an art contest—all by myself, right here, in Scranton, Pennsylvania.

You would tell me about how the animation for the Dunder Mifflin ad was perfect, even though I had to stay up all night to finish it. There was no one to bring me breakfast in New York, Jim. And maybe I'm just incredibly spoiled, but I couldn't stay there without that. I'm not a morning person! I couldn't stand waking up in the noisy, crowded city. It sounds good, but when you compare it to waking up with our limbs entangled, your face pressed into my hair... Well, it just can't compare. Nothing can compare.

I'm also good at dealing with Michael, most of the time. Sometimes, I like to think of that patience as an indicator of how I'm going to act as a parent. And then I realize that I'm basically pretending Michael is my son, and I shudder, gag, and return to work. But that's a skill, right? It's definitely something that most other people don't have. Maybe I'm getting a little desperate.

Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that I'm really glad I didn't stay in New York. Design opportunities aren't really that great in New York anyway. It's too dirty, too busy, and ultimately, it's not for me. Alex was a great friend, but just so you know? Best friends are way more fun than just great friends. That's like basic playground rules.

Love,

Pam


	8. PostIts 2

A/N: All right, one more Post-Its chapter. Hope you enjoy! And in case it wasn't obvious, I do not own The Office. Or Jeopardy_._

Dear Pam,  
Would you like to join me for lunch?  
Love,  
Jim

Dear Jim,  
Well, I brought a slightly moldy egg salad sandwich today. I'm reluctant to leave that…  
Love,  
Pam

Dear Pam,  
What if I told you I could take care of the sandwich for you?  
Love,  
Jim

Dear Jim,  
Wow, I never knew you were so brave. I suppose you could do that.  
Love,  
Pam

Dear Pam,  
All taken care of, Beesly. Meet me downstairs in five minutes.  
Love,  
Jim

Dear Jim,  
Wait, I have an idea. Let's say there was a hostile takeover of the restaurant, so we couldn't possibly come back to work.  
Love,  
Pam

Dear Pam,  
Well, sweetheart, hostile takeovers are normally more common at banks than small Italian restaurants. But it's worth a try!  
Love,  
Jim  
P.S. When we get home early, we can watch _Jeopardy! _I'm going to beat you this time.

Dear Jim,  
I don't think so. I am the returning champion! Whose five day cash winnings total…two dollars, a backrub, dinner, and three miscellaneous socks. That's a pretty daunting sum, if I do say so myself.  
Love,  
Pam


End file.
